


Spilled guts

by rapono



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Scream (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, Jed makes a fucky wucky, Multi, No entity, One Shot, Survivor - Freeform, impossible odds, mild flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapono/pseuds/rapono
Summary: Another grisly attack by the Ghostface, another victim with their guts cut open and spilled onto the carpet floor. And yet, despite all odds, coated in their own blood and viscera, they wake up.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 164





	Spilled guts

**Author's Note:**

> A small little idea I've had for awhile, finally bothered to write it in hopes of getting motivated to write my bigger fics. This could be seen as mild Jed x Reader but I wasn't sure if it was enough to warrant the tag.
> 
> Edit: added the tag

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was that everything hurt. Your whole body ached, head spinning. You opened your eyes and the ceiling was spinning, which you closed right away, leaving you feeling like you’d had the world’s worst hangover. 

You groaned and tried to get up, and that’s when you heard a gasp. Actually, make that several gasps, and a “holy shit". Confused, you opened your eyes again.

Several cops were standing and squatting above you, many with stunned and shocked faces. You squinted back at them, confused.

“How the hell are you alive?”

It was then you looked down at yourself, and was met with the sight of your guts spilled out of a gaping whole in your chest, blood splattered around, with as few numbered markers propped up on the ground.

You were lying in the middle of a crime scene of your very own murderer, and somehow, alive.

“…oh.” You choked out.

It was then that last night’s events came back to you full force.

* * *

You had just received a phone call, the caller asking you what your favorite scary movie was, and you knew you were fucked. You'd heard what happened to other people in your neighborhood, you had just hoped you weren’t interesting enough to become his next obsession.

So you played his game, pretending to be oblivious, only acting against his wishes when you were certain he was about to strike. It seemed to have extended your lifespan by a bit, but eventually you came face to face with the masked killer. 

You playfully teased and joked as the two of you raced around your home, just missing another swipe of the knife, hoping that he’d end up liking you enough to keep you around. But alas, it was for naught, as you eventually found yourself pinned beneath him, belly up.

“Caught you~!” His voice was sing-song, clearly very pleased he had finally caught you. You flashed him a nervous smile, arms pinned beneath his legs.

“Now I wonder if you look as good on the inside as you do on the outside.”

Before you could say anything, either a compliment or protest, he dug his knife into your sternum, and cut downward. Your screams fell on deaf ears as he opened you up, pulling your intestines out of place, spreading them out across the floor.

“Beautiful, absolutely gorgeous.”

You could do nothing but scream and whimper in pain, as he made macabre art out of your blood and organs, all your quips caught up in your throat. Ghostface paused for a moment, off put by your silence.

“Aww, nothing more to say? And just when I was having fun.”

Bastard seemed to like your fight, despite deciding to kill you anyways. You weren’t sure if that made you feel proud or disgusted, but you decided that if you were gonna go out, you might as well try to have the last word.

"You know, I don't know if you noticed, but red really isn't my color I'm afraid."

Ghostface chuckled, very much amused, his shoulders shaking as he finished making you into a work of art. He cleaned off his knife with a wipe of his gloves, hilting the blade before crouching down over your body once more, this time leaning down closer to your face.

“You know, you’ve been my favorite victim so far. I’m gonna miss you.”

And to your surprise, he lifted up his mask, not all the way, but to just below his nose. You could see his cocky smile now, feel his warm breath on your face. You shivered.

“And you've been my favorite serial killer. I’m gonna miss you too.” It was getting harder to speak, but your words were still clear enough.

His smile grew wider, and then leaned down and kissed you on the cheek. Your breath hitched as the action caught you off guard, and you could see him grin wider at your reaction, as spots began to dance in your vision.

“Sleep well sweetheart.”

And with that, he patted you lightly on the cheek, pulling his mask back down, and got up. He pulled out a camera, a good one, the kind you saw many journalists and photographers using, and snapped a photo of the artwork he had made out of you, as your vision started to blur. You hoped you at least looked good while dead, despite the spread of viscera Ghostface had made out of you. 

Vision fading and head swimming, the last thing you saw was his silhouette disappearing down the hall, before the darkness of death consumed your consciousness.

* * *

You almost didn’t hear the cop's questions as the memories replayed themselves in your head, the internal movie drowning out the sound.

As you sat up to try to regain your bearings as they tried to put your intestines back inside you, you noticed the crowd of reporters outside, all squeezed against the line of police tape. 

And then, one caught your eye. A young man, staring right at you, frowning. Unlike everyone else, who seemed to be in a state of shock or happy for your survival, he seemed rather annoyed.

That was until he noticed you looking back, and flashed a familiar grin, and pointed a familiar looking camera in your direction. And just like that, the world seemed to stop for just a moment.

No, it couldn’t be.

And then, as if someone had pulled the cotton out of your ears, everything came back full force, the aching pain, the smell of rust and death, and the sounds of the police questioning. You coughed, doubling over in pain, before looking back at the crowd. The man was still there, staring at you, smiling. 

The cop crouched beside you repeated his questioning again, only this time, you heard it.

“Who did this?”

You peeled your eyes away from the crowd to look at the officer, a mild surprise in his face as you had finally responded.

“The Ghostface. He fucked up.”

You looked back to the sea of reporters and he was gone.


End file.
